Clash of the Dragons 4
Clash of the Dragons 4 is an encounter in Against the King. Enemies * Clara (Against the King) (100 Gold, 100 XP, 100 Energy, 2 HP) Transcript Introduction His uncle was a mighty lord, A warrior the prince adored, Who'd served the kingdom with his sword, And battled the barbaric horde; One night the boy dreamed his death. An assassin's blade took his life, His blood glistened red on the knife, He fell beside his murdered wife. The prince had seen his death. *** "Roar, gold dragon!" "Death to Crenus!" Sergeant Carmath braced herself for the impact, but the collision still jarred her bones and knocked the air out of her lungs. Battle line crashed into battle line. Bodies thudded against shields. Spear and halberd points punctured flesh. Shafts shattered beneath the strain. Eyes rolled back in heads. Boots trod on churned up mud and dying warriors. Blood flowed like wine, mingling with the discharge of opened bladders and voided bowels. The foul horror of war assailed all her senses. Murderous orbs glowered at her over the rim of her shield. "Death to Crenus!" The rebel's eyes were big and bloodshot, lolling above his twisted grin. "Death to Crenus!" He raised his arm as though to strike. Blood spurted from a stump at the end of his forearm. He chopped at her anyway, again and again. Grinning and screaming. "Death to Crenus!" The sergeant ran him through. He lay on the ground, grasping at her boots. "Death to... to..." She stomped on his face and pressed on alongside the others, shield to shield, shoulder to shoulder. His glaring eyes swam in her vision, but she knew they wouldn't be there for long. This battle would have plenty of other horrors to usurp them. *** "Chumgrak kill!" He swung his axe to make it so, splitting the enemy orc's thick skull and sowing the ground with shattered teeth and tusks. His half-healed chest wound sent out a burst of pain -- partially repaired muscle protesting against the exertion. But the sealed flesh held. He grunted and cleaved again, chopping deep into another greenskin's neck. "Chumgrak!" A furry hand snatched at his arm. "Help me!" The orc glanced where Ryli's clawed finger pointed. A gnome in a battered helmet, his face slathered with blood and filth, was crawling out from under a pile of orc and human corpses, scrabbling at the dirt, dragging himself inch by straining inch. A bloodrager loomed over him. Chumgrak kicked. A chunk of orcish head flew through the air in a neat, precise parabolic arc, till its trajectory smacked into their enemy's face. The bloodrager staggered, startled. Chumgrak closed the distance and put an axe blade in his heart before he understood what had happened. Ryli grabbed the gnome's arm and pulled at it. Chumgrak glanced in each direction, but all their foes were embroiled in combat, and the fighting was dispersing from the heap of dead. He reached down and heaved some of the bodies aside. The felpuur yanked the gnome clear. Then she swore. "Help..." the gnome murmured. Weak, twitching fingers brushed Ryli's hand. "Help..." Blood gushed from the places where his legs had been. He gurgled and groped at her hand again. Then his face slumped into the mud. *** Rakshara's shield slammed into the horse's flank. The cavalrywoman cried out and slashed with her falchion. The beast neighed and tried to recover. But Rogar's Dream caught the blow and the oroc's leg kicked at the steed's, shattering its shin. Stallion and rider crashed in a heap. Rakshara dispatched each of them with a quick thrust. She gazed across the maelstrom, the disarrayed hordes of friend and foe, to where she'd last seen Hugh. But there was no sign of the Titaran. She looked around. A band of screaming barbarians were finishing the last of the horsemen -- skewering them with their spears, yanking them down from the saddle, hacking them apart with swords and axes. Her work here was done. She began to move off, to make for that distant part of the fighting. "Rakshara!" She looked down at a face splashed with blood, and golden hair streaked with the same hue. "Clara! I thought you-" "Where's %name%?" "I don't know!" The half-elf swore and ran off into the fray. Conclusion Symric dodged the rebel's clumsy swing. The dwarf's boot caught on one of the bodies. He tumbled forwards, and his momentum brought him straight onto the goblin's blade. It burst from the poor fool's back, along with a little spray of gore. Symric snorted and pulled the sword free. Many skilled warriors had come to watch the duel. But so had a massive rabble of armed idiots, who wouldn't have known a parry from a paring knife. It was the latter who'd charged at them in this part of the field. "Roderick and the Kasan!" The woman thrust at him with a pitchfork of all things. He'd heard that the Dragon-Rider and Roderick each wielded that farmer's tool in battle, slaying many foes. But this one wasn't the demagogue's equal -- much less the legendary hero's. Symric caught the shaft under his arm, pinning the weapon against his side. She shrieked and tried to pull it free. If they'd been in a town square, if this was a mere band of malcontents to be subdued, the goblin would've slammed his pommel into her jaw. There was no room for such mercy on the battlefield. He finished her with a quick, crisp thrust. It was the best he could do for her. Symric spat. Butcher's work left a foul taste in his mouth. But his eyes glinted when they caught sight of a different kind of foe -- a half-elf darting across the field, cape flapping behind her, a sword in each hand. Two halberdiers leveled their weapons at her. She ducked beneath their blades without slowing. When she came up, both the swords flashed. One soldier died fast with a pierced heart. The other went down screaming, clutching at spilled organs. The goblin swordsman ran to intercept her. Her eyes narrowed when he put himself in her path. But again she didn't slow. Wherever she was going, whether she was seeking particular foes or was lost in bloodlust and yearned to throw herself into heavier fighting, she had no intention of being waylaid. The woman jumped. She flipped high in the air, turning a complete somersault, and stabbed down at him. Symric parried. A flashy attack like that relied on startling a foe into inaction, and he'd seen far too many battles to fall for the stunt. The half-elf seemed to understand this. When she landed, she came at him with a less flamboyant attack -- blades working high and low to find an opening. Symric parried her left blade towards her right, putting himself out of the line of its twin. She dropped into a low crouch, swiveled, and thrust at his abdomen. He twisted his body and let it skim across his chain shirt with a series of grinding clinks. The goblin turned his wrist and stabbed downwards, over the blade he'd parried. She fell backwards, dropping away from the point, and scissored his leading leg with both of hers. He yelped as the limb flew out from under him. She was over him before his back hit the ground. Her blade pierced his mail. Metal rings stroked and scratched the passing steel, ushering it into his body. The woman's eyes met his. He glanced downwards. She followed his gaze, to where the goblin's sword had penetrated her doublet. Crimson seeped around the wound. It grew in Symric's vision like a beautiful flower as the world went dark. *** Clara moaned when the goblin's steel came free. Blood sprayed at the departing blade, kissing it goodbye or spitting in its face. She sheathed her left sword and pressed a hand against the split flesh. Warm, sticky liquid licked her palm. The former assassin staggered away. A hundred curses and profanities whirled through her thoughts. "I'm sorry, Roderick..." she whispered. Category:Against the King